Mandatory Articles
by Ridley Jack
Summary: ARTICLE 3 UP! “You know why they make us wear ties, Pothead?” No, but I bet Harry would love to find out. Silly [oneshot] drabbles with different pairings and different articles of clothing [uniforms] each. DMHP HrR SFDT so far.
1. Article Number One

_Genre: Romance, hopefully incites a chuckle or two_

_Pairing: Harry/Draco (That means slash, kiddos!)_

_:Inserting Standard Disclaimer Issue #426 here:_

_Summary: "I just decided to share with you how much I love ties," Draco shares with Harry his love for ties.

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_Perhaps part of a series giving explanation to why Hogwarts students have to wear what they do. I don't wanna say too much in case I jinx it._

_This idea has been in my head for ages, so I'm glad I've finally been able to write it down. Hopefully it's enjoyable!

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**Those Dratted Things They Call Uniforms;**

Mandatory Article Number One: Ties

_Ridley Jack

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"You know why they make us wear ties, Pothead?" Malfoy smirked as he ambled unhurriedly down the empty corridor.

Harry's head jerked up, as did the rest of him when he realized who had found him slouched despondently against the wall. Judging by the smirk on his face, he'd have something to say about that, too. Oh, why couldn't he be in class like everyone else? Harry bemoaned silently.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" Harry asked tiredly, beyond the point of caring.

"Do you know why?" Malfoy asked again, referring to his earlier question.

Harry sighed. He wasn't really in the mood for Malfoy and his antics just then. He'd had to find out, through Lavender, (_Lavender_ of all people! The biggest gossiper (well, tied with Pavarti) in Hogwarts!), that Hermione and Ron were going out. Steadily. Had been for a while, in fact. And he'd been too blind to notice it; too involved in other things. Malfoy was not helping his _steadily_ deteriorating mood.

"I'm not in the mood, Malfoy. Just this once, please?" he inwardly cringed. Imagine that; Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, practically _begging_ Draco Malfoy, Ferret-Face, Son-of-a-Death Eater, and therefore, by default, Enemy-of-the-Boy.

Malfoy sighed imperceptibly, and repeated the only words he'd uttered so far, and slowly, at that, as if to someone who barely qualified as a four year-old. "Do. You. Know. Why."

Harry sighed again, this time much more heavily. "Fine then. No, Malfoy, I _don't_ know why. I suppose you'll tell me, though, won't you?" he asked derisively.

To say that Harry received the shock of a lifetime would be a severe understatement. To say that Harry enjoyed it would make it a vast one, too.

Draco's pale, slender hand shot out, and before Harry could react, grabbed his red-and-gold tie and tugged him closer.

"Wh—" was all that he got out before Draco's surprisingly soft lips descended upon his own.

He bit back an exclamation of surprise. Malfoy was gay! Why… When…

All other thoughts were erased from his mind when Draco's tongue slid across his bottom lip. Harry gasped, and Draco used this opportunity to engage their tongues in a heated battle.

Draco's hand slowly released its hold on Harry's tie, to come to rest instead upon his chest. His other worked its way around Harry's waist, clamping their bodies together. Not that Harry cared, mind you. His hands were currently occupied, one tangled in the strands of pale-blond hair that really _was_ as soft as it looked, and the other was cupping Draco's cheek, where his thumb was leisurely rubbing back and forth.

They broke apart only when air became a necessity. Harry gawked at Draco, blazing emerald eyes wide, hands falling to rest on his shoulders. "What was _that?_" he demanded once he got his breath partially under control.

Draco shrugged. "I just decided to share with you how much I love ties," he said, his smouldering eyes alight with mirth. "Don't you agree?" he asked, arching a delicate brow.

Harry felt heat flood his face, but carried on heedlessly. "I think I need another demonstration," he murmured, head lowering and arms encircling Draco, gently stroking his back.

"Much obliged," Draco whispered against his ear, sending shivers down Harry's spine.

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– _**Fin –

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_I hoped you liked it! I think I already have an idea for the next article… :plots:_


	2. Article Number Two

_Genre: Romance, humour_

_Pairing: Hermione/Ron_

_:Inserting Standard Disclaimer Issue #98 here:_

_Summary: Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Hermione do some last-minute, much-needed shopping before Hogwarts resumes. Mr Weasley took out the boys, too, but returned before they did. At least, they should have…

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_This is my first Ron/Hermione fic, so hopefully it's good… I've never really given them more than a line (a word, really) before, in any of my fics, and now I'm giving them one all their own.

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**Those Dratted Things They Call Uniforms;**

Mandatory Article Number Two: Bras

_Ridley Jack

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Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Hermione tumbled through the fireplace to land on the mix-matched rugs adorning the floor of the Burrow.

"Where are the boys?" Mrs. Weasley commented aloud, peering suspiciously about the silent house. The _too_ silent house. "I told them not to be gone long," she muttered, heading for the kitchen.

Before she even got halfway, though, there was a loud CRAAACK, a bright flash, and the products of their "girls-only" shopping trip were scattered as a result of the shrieking, flailing mass they'd become.

"Ha ha ha!" George laughed, "Good one, Fred!" he got out, still doubled over.

"Indeed, George, in—lookit what ickle Ronnikins has gots!" he cried in glee, practically bouncing on the spot and thus making it very hard to trace where his finger was pointing. Or, rather, it would, if the object of his ridicule wasn't frozen to the spot in terror.

Ron reached a tentative hand up and brought down the horrifying object with a screech… er… manly yelp.

He held the offending object at arms length and by only a pinkie.

"Oh my," Mrs. Weasley gasped softly.

"Er, Hermione," Ginny started.

It felt like all the blood in her body was currently residing in Hermione's face. It had to be hers, didn't it? Ron was holding, from their latest shopping spree, and her splurge, a lacy, sexy, push-up, full-support, bright turquoise bra, bought straight from the hottest lingerie store in Diagon Alley.

"Her—Hermi—" Ron's voice broke.

He looked frantically at his brothers, who were of no help, as they were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

Hermione's embarrassment was slowly being replaced by something else entirely; irritation.

"Oh, for goodness sakes, Ron! It's just a bra! You have a _sister!_ And a _mom!_ What do you think _they_ wear? I _know_ you've seen them before!" she snapped, exasperation evident in her tone. "And don't think I don't know about _that magazine_ of yours!" she added, not quite spitefully.

Fred and George had stopped laughing, but were now looking faintly ill.

"I think we should let them be for a bit," Mrs. Weasley intervened diplomatically, marching the others out. "They—magazine, Ronald?"

Her expression didn't bode well for Ron. That is, if he survived. "We'll be talking about _that_ one later," she promised, and Ron knew that it didn't matter if he survived the wrath of Hermione or not. His mum would just bring him back to life to kill him again.

Hermione, while Ron was mentally preparing his will, snatched her bra and held it protectively against her chest.

Ron still looked like he'd fallen a little too deep and had no idea how to go about getting out, but he was looking a little less green around the edges, if you didn't look too closely.

"It's just a bra, Ron," she repeated quietly, more for his sake.

He seemed to have found his voice, "Yeah, but it's _yours,_" he whispered the last word, as if it were some life-threatening secret. Which, considering his situation, wasn't that far off.

Hermione felt herself becoming less than calm. Not that she'd been calm since they'd tumbled through the fire to an "empty" house, but this was getting to be just too much.

"And is there a problem with that?" she asked dangerously.

Ron, oblivious, answered truthfully.

"Yes."

He seemed to realize his mistake too late. "I mean, no!" He sighed. "I mean, it's _you_, Herm! Do you have any idea what it does to a guy to see something that"—he blushed up to his ears—"_intimate_ that belongs to your cr—" he stopped in the nick of time, but you didn't need a brilliant mind like Hermione to figure out what he wasn't saying.

Hermione's eyes softened.

"You like me? That way?" she hoped Ron couldn't tell how stupid she felt asking that. But she needed to know.

"Er… well… I… you see…" Ron hedged.

"Yes or no!" Hermione barked, patience fraying. She felt very much like what Mrs. Weasley must feel ninety percent of the time. Not that Mrs. Weasley would ever be in a situation like this because that would be wrong and disg—and she realized she was rambling to herself and pulled herself together enough to hear what she needed to hear.

"… That is, yes," he finished quickly, still blushing madly.

"Really?" she enquired tentatively, a grin forming.

Rod nodded, not quite looking at her, and so was unprepared to catch her as she launched herself at him. They fell in a tangled heap, with her on top and his arms around her.

"Me, too," she whispered through the grin that was about to split her face.

Things were suddenly sober as she lowered her head and Ron raised his, warm breath grazing across her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as she prepared for what would surely be the Best-Kiss, her Fairy-Tale-Kiss, her Happy-Ending-Kiss. Ron brought up his hand to cup her cheek and their lips were surely only millimetres away—

"Woo-hoo!

"AL-right!

"About time!" three separate calls rang out at once, followed quickly by a stern admonishment by Mrs. Weasley.

Ron's face burned but Hermione only chuckled. What was Happily-Ever-After without the family? She smiled softly and brought her head down once more—

"AW-yeah!

"He's getting some now!

"Oh, this is just so romantic!

"My baby boy…" this last had a few definite sniffles at the end, but once again the cries came, rolling over the couple.

Hermione groaned and let her head drop down beside Ron's, landing with a resounding THUNK.

"Oh, that's gotta hurt!

"Takin' one for the home team!

"Ouch!

"Careful, dears!

"Honestly, children! Molly, you should know better!" Mr Weasley's voice rang out over the din.

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**.:.Fin.:.**

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**_Be nice! It's my first Ron/Hermione pairing! And if anyone knows a cute little (well, I don't know if "nickname" is the right word...) for the Ron/Hermione paring, that'd be great! Some examples of what I'm looking for are "Drarry", (that's Draco and Harry, dahlings), "Deamus", (which is, of course, Dean and Seamus), and the only other one I know of is "Grape"(and this is--brace yourselves, dahlings--Granger and Snape)._


	3. Article Number Three

_Genre: Romance, maybe a smile or two_

_Pairing: Dean/Seamus (slash, dahlings! So ye be warned!)_

_:Inserting Standard Disclaimer Issue #642 here:_

_Summary: Seamus innocently asks Dean if he's ticklish. Of course, with the answer that Dean provides, Seamus just can't help but prove him wrong. Things soon escalate out of control, but is that a good thing?

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_I'm feeling compelled to write another one, mostly because I don't want to let my loverly reviewers down, and the almost 800 hits is a little heady._

_And, forgive me! The article is actually just shirts, but "jumper" sounds so much more better, don't you think? And I'm thinking of changing the subtitle of Article Two, (bras to undergarments or something prudish like that), but that might just be because of my "fragile sensitivities", so if you guys could tell me what you think about that, it's be welcome! Thanks!

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**Those Dratted Things They Call Uniforms;**

Mandatory Article Number Three: Jumpers

_Ridley Jack

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_

"Hey, Dean, are you ticklish?" Seamus asked suddenly one quiet evening as they were settled in a corner of the common room.

Dean glanced up from his homework. "What?" he queried, distracted.

Seamus waited until he had Dean's full attention. With all the seriousness and solemnity he could muster, he repeated his question.

"Are you ticklish?"

Dean's manner turned evasive. "Er… no," he avoided looking Seamus in the eyes. "Why?" he asked dreading the answer.

Seamus asking you a question like that usually never led to anything good. Interesting results, but bad nonetheless. Only if you were on the recieving end, that is. To other people it was simply hilarious.

"No? You sure?" he questioned, a sly grin sneaking over his features. "You do realize, don't you, that with an answer like that, I'm practically _obligated_ to prove you wrong?"

Dean resisted the urge to back away. "No. I mean, yes, I'm sure. Seamus, you stay over there! You're not obligated for anything!" he yelped as Seamus tackled him to the ground, his homework falling off to the side somewhere.

"No, Seamus, please!" he shrieked, roaring with laughter.

Seamus grinned, hands travelling over his sides.

They'd both disposed of their robes long ago and were only wearing their pants and shirts, which were un-tucked, and it Seamus' case, the sleeves rolled up, so it was relatively easy for Seamus to slip his hands inside Dean's shirt to better tickle the boy. At least, that's what he told himself.

His fingers trailed along his ribs and Dean's breath caught. "Seamus," he said tightly.

Seamus realized exactly what he was doing; he'd ceased tickling Dean, and instead his fingers were ghosting along Dean's lower torso, leaving what felt like, to the taller boy, a tingling, fiery trail behind. Seamus' almost-stubby fingers traced patterns on Dean's stomach before slowly sliding around to his sides and back.

Seamus watched with faint amazement the difference between his pale fingers and Dean's dark stomach, forgetting about everything else.

"Seamus," Dean repeated, strained. "Either kiss me, or go away."

Seamus' startled eyes met Dean's slightly smiling, slightly nervous ones. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, got his tongue to work, lacked the right amount of saliva to make words form, and closed it again.

Dean chuckled quietly, and Seamus privately thrilled at the sound. He loved it when Dean laughed like that. He was such a quiet boy, never talking much, but Seamus didn't mind. Especially when he laughed quietly like that, that laugh that he'd never heard from Dean when he was with anybody besides him.

"I figured you felt the same way as me when you stopped tickling me and started to caress me instead," he admitted, smiling shyly, unacknowledged hope shining in his eyes. "Were, too!" he admonished, before Seamus could deny that he was caressing _anything, _though he was still smiling. "And you still are," he pointed out, but made no move to stop him.

Seamus stilled his hand anyways, and watched anew the way Dean's dark skin poked out between his splayed fingers. When he didn't do anything besides stare at his hand, Dean growled under his breath and lurched forward to grab the back of Seamus' neck and pull their heads together.

"I told you to kiss me," he whispered before crashing their lips together.

The kiss was anything but chaste; Seamus was fondly referred to as the Gryffindor slut, and Dean was no inexperienced child, either.

Their tongues didn't battle, but explored. Their limbs didn't clutch and grasp, but roved and detoured. Eyes fluttered shut and grips relaxed, moving fleetingly through ruddy hair. One of Dean's arms came around to hug Seamus, or as close to hugging as two could get in their position; Seamus was sitting almost on top of Dean, but when Dean had sat up, he had correspondently brought his legs up as well, so they were an unwelcome obstruction between the two of them. Seamus' hands were still on Dean's front, but rather than pushing him away, they were pulling him closer, begging wordlessly for more.

It wasn't a very romantic kiss, and was a somewhat abrasive and rushed kiss, but neither boy would change it for the world.

Seamus slowly broke away. "Wait. Felt the same?" he finally asked.

Dean smirked, an expression he'd never before seen on the normally calm, happyface. He shrugged, not providing any answers.

"But I didn't even know you were gay…" Seamus complained.

"Does it matter?" Dean asked warily. "I like you. If that makes me gay, then…" he trailed off, shrugging philosophically.

"Works for me," Seamus chirped happily.

Dean laughed and moved his legs so they were more comfortable, gently pulling Seamus down.

Across the room, two of the five people left in the common room were talking quietly, heads close together.

"Well, that's it then. It's official," Ron declared, disgusted.

"Ron, it's not that bad," Hermione chided.

"It's horrible!" Ron objected. "I hate Potions! I hate Snape! I hate _Malfoy!"_

"What does Malfoy have to do with it?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

Ron shrugged. "He's in the same class."

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'.' Fin '.'

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_Ha! I bet you thought I was going to do one of those oh-so-popular "Ron's a gambler so pay up" endings, weren't you? Actually, don't be too surprised if one of those shows up…_

_Anyways, I thought that I'd get another one out there, and with my favourite pairing, too! Maybe the next article will be pants, hm:suggestive smirk: (Urm… don't count on it, k?)_


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